


8 o'clock

by mmmuse



Series: One Night [1]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Their wedding night had been one of delight and new discovery." <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4548771">Pride Goeth Before the Fall</a></p>
<p>Glimpses into Ross and Demelza's first night together as man and wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	8 o'clock

**Author's Note:**

> I've written this, having all of my previous writings in mind whilst doing so. However, this series immediately follows the events of [Three Weeks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4665447), so I encourage you to read that before this, the final chapter in particular. In that chapter, the stage is set for many more explorations, especially before the Paynters return to Nampara and spoil everything. :-)
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who have given me kudos and comments on my previous work. Please let me know what you think as I'm always looking for ways to improve. Finally, to my lovely beta, Sherylyn, for her assistance in polishing this up for you!
> 
> Dear Winston, pray forgive me for what I'm about to do to your characters. It seems they are a bit...ravenous.

Ross came awake in stages, one sensation triggering the next: ears taking in the crackle and pop of the fire’s dying embers; the twist of a hunger pang in his stomach; the scent of flowers and the muskiness of sex in his lungs and — finally — the suppleness of his new wife’s stocking-clad leg tucked between his own. His eyes flickered open to find Demelza wrapped in his embrace, her head resting on his shoulder, her hair a fragrant tumble near his jaw. He glanced down, catching the candlelight’s glowing reflection off her cheek and nose before moving downward to delight in the play of light and shadow over the fair skin of her breasts.

He was willing to bet a thousand guineas that there was not a more contented man in all of Cornwall than he at that particular moment. Until his stomach growled once more. Given the exceedingly pleasant exertions of that afternoon, he found it nearly miraculous that he’d conjured enough energy to open his eyes, let alone consider making a trip downstairs to the larder for something to eat.

The decision was made after the third rumble, which he’d thought loud enough to wake her from her slumbers. She merely sighed a little and turned in his embrace to rest on her opposite side. He reconsidered his decision for a moment as the softness of her buttocks now pressed against his hip. It would be nothing to shift her leg up just a bit, just up enough to allow his hips to shift between her thighs and take her from behind this time…

There was no help for it. He was simply too hungry to be of any use to either of them in that way. He shifted his arm slightly, so that her head would slip from his shoulder to the pillow below, and quietly rose from the bed. He walked around to the other side of the room and knelt by the fire, stirring the embers back to life before adding more wood to the flame. Once he was satisfied, he rose and looked around the room. The candles had nearly gone out as well. He walked over to where he’d remembered throwing his shirt earlier, slipped it over his head, and grabbed an extra candle from the top of his desk. Pausing to light it from one of the guttering wall sconces, he turned to take one more look at his wife.

The revitalized fire bathed her skin with its golden light. She lay partially exposed, her head and shoulders back against the pillows, her breasts — soft and pink-tipped — rising and falling with each breath. She was lying with a slight twist at her waist, so that her lower belly was almost flat against the mattress, the russet curls he knew shielded her womanhood in deep shadow. The sheet was twisted about her hips, and her left leg dangled slightly off the side of the bed.

_A most tempting sight,_ he thought to himself. _But first, some food._ He padded quietly to the door and made his way downstairs.

A quick look out of the kitchen window showed the sun had begun its descent towards evening. Six hours. They’d been secreted away in their bedchamber for the last six hours. During that time, they’d given way to their passion’s desire in more ways than he’d ever anticipated for their first night together as man and wife.

They’d fallen into a deep sleep after she’d done her best to kill him with her curious, inexperienced, and thoroughly beguiling hands, mouth, teeth and tongue. She’d been bold one moment, shy the next, and the alternating nature of her engagement had nearly driven him mad until he’d been able to take no more. He smiled with the memory of it all.

He’d pulled her away from her enthusiastic explorations before he came too soon, not because he wanted to. He simply didn’t know how she’d react to it so soon after the start of their intimate life together. She barely uttered a gasp of indignation before he settled her on top of his erection, her eyes widening with discovery before drifting half-closed with pleasure. She rode him, and he knew he’d never be able to watch her ride astride a horse — without wishing to be her mount — ever again. She held his gaze in hers, scratching her nails against the skin of his chest before raising her hands up and over her head to clutch at her hair. The sounds coming from deep in her throat as her back arched filled his brain with mindless desire. Her breasts bobbed and swayed with each of her movements and his eyes dropped until his gaze became fixed upon where they were joined, the sight of his erection filling her bringing him to the edge of his climax. His hands, which had gripped her hips to help set the pace at first, shifted their hold until his thumbs could reach the bud at her centre. He stroked her, and she shivered and cried out her satisfaction to the canopy above their heads before her body fell to blanket his. He followed her climax with his own, his hands clasped to her hips to hold her still for the taking, his hoarse cry muffled against her throat.

A skittering noise brought him out of his reflections to find Tabitha Bethea, their ancient cat, doing her best to take care of a wayward mouse. It was then he realized he was standing in the middle of the kitchen in naught but his shirt, the front of which tented away from his body due to the raging erection he’d developed as part of his musings.

Annoyed with himself, he grabbed several candles from the sideboard and slapped them down onto the kitchen table and began his quest for nourishment. He rummaged around the larder and uncovered some ham, cheese, a couple of apples, some dried fruits and nuts, and part of the lovely veal pie she’d made the night before. He assembled the items on a plate, although not before taking a huge bite from the pie — it was truly delicious — and snared a bottle of ale before assembling the booty on the rough-hewn table. He bent to gather the haul, only to wonder how he would manage to carry everything.

Five minutes later, Ross gingerly reached the top of the blackened staircase, the plate of food in one hand, ale in the other, fresh candles under his arm, relying only on his twenty-seven years of experience navigating the halls of Nampara to guide him. The wall sconces had gone out hours ago. Thankfully, he had what remained of the sun’s waning rays to partially light his way down the hallway to the bedchamber door.

As he nudged the door open, he noticed Demelza was still deep in slumber. He set the plate of food and jug of ale on the desk, plucked the candles from under his arm and proceeded to replace the nearly extinguished candles in the wall sconces and the three-stick candelabra on the bedside table. The room brightened, chasing some of the shadows away from Demelza’s body. Ross retrieved the plate of food and walked over to the bed, setting the plate on the table on her side of the bed. He plucked an apple from the plate and leaned against one of the bedposts to gaze upon her.

The sheet had shifted even farther down her body, leaving her hips and buttocks exposed. He took a bite of apple, licking the sweet juice from his lips before he captured the bottom edge of the sheet between two long fingers and slowly dragged it the rest of the way down.

She sighed gently and shifted her legs together. The sound the stockings made with her motion set the fine hairs on the back of Ross’s neck on end and his loins tightened once again. When they’d first made love upon their arrival, he’d barely had time to take in all of the sensations that had clashed into him, one after the other. One of the ones he’d barely had a chance to comprehend was how her legs — long, strong — had looked in the fine white stockings she’d worn. They’d reached almost up to her mid-thigh before turning over the ribbons that tied them above her knees. The trailing end of the ribbon had been the same colour pink as her petticoat. He’d had no idea he would respond to something as simple as stockings as violently as he had. He was glad, beyond measure, that they’d become so preoccupied with the progression of their lovemaking that she’d forgotten to remove them, for now he almost wished they’d never come off again. They’d felt silky against his hips when she’d wrapped her legs around him, and he loved the way they felt when she’d rubbed them against his legs, softness against hardness.

Ross’s apple was forgotten, held between his thumb and index finger, as she once again shifted her legs against one another. His other hand absentminded reached under the trailing hem of his shirt to touch his cock, half-erect and already aching for physical contact. He stroked himself, remembering the way her body had felt when he was inside her: tight, wet, clenching around him like a fist, and he closed his eyes. The apple fell to the floor. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning, the stroking of his hand gaining momentum. A muffled groan broke the silence of the room. He opened his eyes to find her eyes, deep green and avid, riveted on his face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza’s eyes opened when she’d heard the sound of something falling onto the floor. She’d looked down and found an apple, missing a sizable bite, rolling to a stop beside the base of the table nearest her side of the bed. She glanced up to find a plate containing delicious-looking food from the larder within her arm’s reach and had half-succumbed to her need for sustenance when she sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. She’d turned her head, startled, and been frozen in place by the sight.

It was her new husband, Ross, the flickering firelight casting him in light and shadow. His face appeared stricken, eyes tightly closed, his nostrils flaring with each breath he took. Clothed only in his shirt, his left arm was wrapped around the bed post while his right moved in frantic, arousing rhythm. The front hem of the shirt was rumpled up against his lower belly, exposing his hips, his hand wrapped around the heavy length of his… his…

She’d enjoyed being granted the freedom to explore his body as he had done hers only hours before and had been enthralled with the anatomy of his erection. She’d marvelled at its velvet softness and hardness, all at the same time, and how it had felt in her hands and her mouth. It hadn’t occurred to her that one could find pleasure with one’s self. This knowledge, now revealed, had begun a new chapter in her education.

She’d risen to her knees in the centre of the bed and had sat on her heels, feeling colour rising up from her chest to blossom on her cheeks, but felt no embarrassment. Fascination, more like, blatant curiosity and desire, beyond anything she’d experienced so far in their relationship. _How was that possible?_ she wondered to herself. She’d felt her heartbeat quicken, the pulse beating deep within and between her thighs. She timidly slipped one of her fingers into the tender flesh of her sex, discovering it had once again grown full, slick, and quivering with sensation.

She felt the groan move past her tongue and lips before she could close them. His eyes had opened — unseeing for a split-second, before realization dawned. He froze, his breath coming in massive gulps, and coloured, as she stared, unblinking, into his face before casting her eyes back down to his hand.

He made a move to release his grip. “No!” she gasped, her voice husky and longing. She crawled forward on her hands and knees to within inches of him, sitting back on her heels once again. “It’s beautiful, watching you, Ross,” she whispered, reaching to touch his right hand with her left, wrapping her fingers around his. His eyes remained locked with hers, beads of sweat appearing along his upper lip and the sharp planes of his face. She then began to push the fabric of his shirt up his torso, releasing from their joint grip on his hardness, and rising up to shove the material up and over his head. Her own breath was coming in sharp pants. She reached for his right hand and returned it to his length, wrapping her left around it. He jolted and groaned at her action, his body thrusting against it. “There is to be no shame between us, isn’t that what you said to me, Ross?”

He nodded, gasping. She could see the pulse at the base of his neck beating faster and faster. She took his left hand, free of the bedpost, and raised it to her lips, kissing it, before drawing his index finger into her mouth. The sweetness of the forgotten apple’s juice combined with the salty, earthy essence she knew to be herself, still clinging to his finger from earlier. She shivered with the knowledge and, holding his eyes with hers, bit down on it before releasing it with a smile.

She saw the instant his restraint broke. He trembled and groaned, shaking his right hand free of hers to join his left in capturing her face in his hands and claiming her mouth as his own. Their kiss was frantic, desperate with need. He shoved her back onto the bed and fell upon her, ravaging her throat with his mouth, her breasts with his hands, before they moved down her body to shove her willing thighs apart.

Demelza rejoiced. “Please, hurry… hurry, Ross,” she panted desperately, whispering her encouragement into his ears. She nearly screamed when he thrust into her impossibly wet and swollen body without delicacy or finesse, up to the root of his body, the pleasure so great and overwhelming.

“Demelza,” he groaned, “no shame, ever.” He began whispering dark and wicked words into her ear. “You feel so good against me, when I’m deep inside you, I feel you squeezing my cock and it makes me burn for more.” His voice sounded harsh yet beseeching at the same time, unlike anything she’d heard coming from him before. The words tumbling from his lips… they aroused her even more. She raked her nails down his back, and she knew he’d have marks come the morning. The thought thrilled her: to know he carried her marks with him as he worked at the mine or in their fields. To know she’d marked him as surely as he’d marked her their first time together.

“Ross,” she implored, winding her legs around his waist, tighter, feeling his hips hammering into hers. “Please, please… I can’t bear it… anymore!”

He rose up to slip his hand between their bodies as he’d done before, but she moved her own hand down to her bud. She gloried in the look of shock and pleasure on his face for an instant before her orgasm took her over. She sobbed out, her body trembling and quaking under his. He stilled over her body for what felt like an eternity before thrusting deep. She could feel his testicles contract against her body as he poured himself inside her, his voice gasping in her ear.

Countless moments later, Demelza drifted through layers of consciousness only recognized by a person who had been satiated beyond her wildest imaginings. Ross lay fully on top of her, his weight pressing her into the feather mattress, and she relished it. Her legs remained wrapped around his waist, holding him within her body, their hearts hammering against each other’s. Sometime later, he managed to prop himself onto his forearms, and captured her passion-bruised lips with his for a lush, lingering kiss before breaking away to press more kisses along her jaw towards her ear. She purred with contentment when he captured the lobe of her ear between his teeth and gave it a soft nibble. Demelza gave him a humming sigh and squeezed him with her thighs. She felt his cock twitch within her and smiled at the soft snort of disbelief that he breathed in her ear.

“Master Poldark,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from her cries. He raised his head to look into her eyes and she noticed his darken at the sound. She shifted her body, circling her hips.

“Yes, Mistress Poldark,” he rasped. He flexed his hips against hers and she smiled: he was hardening inside her once again. He lowered his head once again to nip at her neck and her toes curled with pleasure.

“I think I would like a little something to eat, sir,” she whispered, pressing a kiss against the side of his throat. “After we’ve finished what we’ve started.”

He smiled against her neck before raising his head to meet her eyes. “I am at your command,” he said, kissing her gently, surging against her once more.

She would never have enough of him.


End file.
